


The Guardians

by geniusincombatboots



Series: Guardians [2]
Category: Night at the Museum (2006 2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusincombatboots/pseuds/geniusincombatboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Larry Daley goes to Washington to retrieve the Tablet of Ahkmenrah, he meets two women whom will change his life forever, and the lives of those around him. When one of them is captured, she will have to use her wits to stay alive. The other will have to do all that she can to work with Larry to avoid the end of the world. (Under revision.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Agents of IBSID

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a version of this series that I had on fanfiction.net. Looking back on it I realized how much I have grown as a writer and wanted to revisit the story and maybe finally finish it, if I could. The idea behind it that I had however many years ago was to write a series of fan fictions that span across several works and universes. I hope to do it now. These stories are not to be taken too seriously, but I would like feedback of course.  
> Thank you for your time and consideration.

_She was running from someone. She couldn’t remember what it was, but she knew that it was bad. The police were looking for her by now, so she couldn’t go to them for help. She had to keep reminding herself of these things. She reached into her pocket and found a thin, red moleskine paperback notebook and a stump of a pencil and started writing before she realized she had already written the same note over and over again. There were five pages of it in her small precise handwriting. “Trust No one.”_

_There were a few crumpled dollars in her pocket from her panhandling and she wondered as she hurried through the rain where she was. There was radio buzz, like from a hand held radio, and she knew she was in trouble, so she ducked in through the door into a small, and almost empty café. There was a man at a table, reading the paper, and a woman with greying brown hair sitting at the counter._

_The bright side to the rain was that it her less dirty, and the smell of the street was clinging to everyone now, not just her._

_She moved as if programed to a table at the back in a corner so she could see everything and everyone that came in. There was a voice by her suddenly. A woman with short dark hair, “What can I get you, miss?” the woman asked, and with a look, she knew this woman wasn’t a waitress. Starting, she rose hastily, and was backing away._

_“Nothing.”_

_“Nothing at all?” The woman asked softly, “It’s time to come home.”_

_“I do not know you,” she said back a nervousness creeping into her voice, “I do not know you,” she repeated, the same way a child avoiding a stranger might._

_The woman’s dark eyes were almost sad at that, “I know. You never do.”_

_There was a man behind her. She knew it and then it was too late to do anything._

_“I do not want to go back,” She said, whining a little. They were dosing her with something. A tranquilizer, she supposed._

_“I know. You never do,” she woman with dark hair replied solemnly._

Sybil sat up with a start from the dream that was somehow too real. She had felt everything. There was a painful ache in her chest from the fear that had gripped her as if it were her own.

In the dim light of the early morning sun that poured into the hostel room, she saw that Evelyn wasn’t there. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was and why. She saw the light and remembered what they were doing here.

They finally had a new assignment. Sybil was more excited than she knew she should be. She was supposed to take all of these things very seriously, but she didn’t really tend to. She was nervous as well. Her mother had moved to Washington DC after her parent’s separation and she shuddered at the chance of seeing her mother.

It was a full moment before she remembered that she was not any chance that her mother was even still alive. If it was 2009, her mother would be almost one hundred and nineteen. She shook the thought away and got up to dress.

They had had a few assignments, but nothing really exciting. It was mostly presiding over council meetings to assure treaties were respected or that new treaties and agreements did not violate preexisting ones. For once it looked like an adventure if everything went wron­­g.

They were to go to DC, and then were to figure out how to get into the archives beneath the national mall, which didn’t end up quite working out, but Evelyn casted a spell to teleport them in. The result was the pair falling maybe seven feet to the ground. Evelyn landed on her feet, Sybil almost flat on her face.

"Come along now, foolish girl", She hauled Sybil up to her feet.

"What's our job, exactly?"

"It's an easy job,” Evelyn took her electronic tablet from her pocket, “‘The Tablet of Ahkmenrah has been stolen. You are to retrieve it from the Federal Archives of the Smithsonian Museums before it falls into the wrong hands and return it to its rightful owner,'" she read the message off of her tablet.

"If it's stolen isn't it already in the wrong hands?"

"Not necessarily," she starts along, hitting light switches as she went.

"Well, if it's so very important, why don't Ahkmenrah just come and get it himself?"

"Because he's been dead for some 3000 years."

"Then why is it such a big deal?" Sybil asked, not sounding sarcastic or snotty, but genuinely trying to wrap her mind around it, “Is it some sorta weapon?”

Evelyn takes one of those deep breaths that meant she can't believe she got stuck with so stupid an apprentice, "Because, Sybil, the Pharaoh Ahkmenrah is brought to life every night by the tablet, as is everything in the museum in which he dwells. A number of the exhibits were moved from the Museum of Natural History in New York to storage here. Either someone packed it by mistake, or one of the exhibits stole it so that they wouldn't have to cease living."

"So…everything down here's set to come to life as soon as the sun sets?" Sybil said with a pause, trying to add it all up.

"Yes, my dear, now come along."

"What does this thing look like?"

"About a foot by a foot, a couple inches thick, solid gold," she gestures the size.

"How far off is sunset?"

"About…” Evelyn checked her pocket watch, a sentimental silver bauble, “18 minutes…"

"Great…should only take a year to search this whole place"

"This is only one of the floors,” she waved her hand over the tablet, murmuring an incantation.

“Are you trying to pull up at map? There should be some sort of database where they keep the locations for everything…”

Evelyn held the tablet out to him, and showed her a data log with a location highlighted, “come along now.”

They walked through the storage space, Evelyn, counting out the numbered sections as they went. After fifteen minutes of walking, they saw a large red trailer. The text on the side of it, told them that they had found what they were looking for.

"Well," Sybil said trying to be positive "That wasn't so hard."

There were seven men frozen in place out side of the trailer, six of them in leather tunics, wielding spears, and the other garbed in gold and turquoise, and a spherical crown with the crest of Horus on it. He pointed at finger at the crate, his mouth frozen in a scream.

"Maybe, Ahkmenrah came to get his own tablet…?” Sybil said hopefully.

"No, this is not Ahkmenrah," Evelyn narrowed her eyes at the man, "this would be the wrong hands."

Sybil did her best not to roll her eyes and the dramatic flair of her mentor. She squeezed her way into the crate, which was open just a crack. Inside, there were frozen figures of Huns, Neanderthals, a pretty Native American woman, some Roman and Cowboy miniatures and a monkey holding a solid gold tablet, "Bingo…" she start to pry it gingerly out of the primate's hands and squeeze back out of the crate, "I got it, now let's get out of here."

Evelyn extracted a pocket ledger from the pocket of her overcoat. That little book held all of her spells as well as personal notes that she wouldn’t let Sybil read. She opened it and flips through the pages looking for the teleportation spell. Just then a man in a security guard uniform comes around the corner yelling at them, "Hey! Put down that tablet that's museum property!"

"Terribly sorry, sir," Evelyn says quickly, "You see we were employed by the Museum of Natural History up in New York. Some rather clumsy workmen packed this up by mistake, and we are to return it, we'll be out of your hair in a moment, sir. Come along, Marlow," She said to the younger woman, and started walking, flipping through pages as she walked. Sybil began to follow, trying to ignore the prick at the back of her neck that something was wrong with the guard.

"Well, no trouble at all," said the man, "But just in case, could I see your papers?"

"Our papers?” Evelyn asked slowly, looking through her book, no doubt for a manipulation spell.

The look on the Guard’s face turned serious, "Look, hand over the tablet and I won't report you for larceny."

Sybil looked at Evelyn, "Spell?"

"Found it," Evelyn says calmly, taking Sybil’s hand and beginning to chant in Latin.

The Guard snatched the tablet out of Sybil’s hands and turns on his heel.

Sybil started after him, shouting out, "Hey, Jag-off! Come back!"

As Sybil’s hands caught the guard’s jacket, the tablet started to glow. The Guard stopped, and slapped it like was going to do something to stop this. Then the man in gold and turquoise began to yell in Egyptian. One of his soldiers locked the door of the crate before he turned to them, with a questioning look. He asked them something in Ancient Egyptian, which none of them responded to, "Uh, Sprechen zie Duetche?…Parlez-vous francais?…English, English perhaps?­­­­"

"Yeah, we speak English," replied the Guard.

"Oh, thank the gods, my French is terrible,” the Pharaoh’s eyes found Sybil and Evelyn. He moved slowly, a cruel smirk on his cruel face as he looked at Evelyn. Her jaw was set firm as she glared at him.

He took her gloved hand and made to kiss the air over it, saying something in Egyptian that Sybil couldn’t quite make out.

"Uh…I'm sorry, who are you?" she asked hesitantly.

"I am Kahmunrah," he says dramatically, lisping, "Great king of Great Kings, and from the depths of ancient history, I have come BACK TO LIFE!"

"Uh-huh…" the guard replied

"Perhaps you did not hear what I just said. I am a centuries old Egyptian Pharaoh. I was dead, but now I have come BACK TO LIFE!"

"Yeah, no, heard that, got that…Welcome back."

"Who are you?" Kahmunrah demands, apparently surprised by the guard’s lack of surprise at the recital of these facts.

"Larry, Larry Daley, of Daley Devices, it's up in New York..."

Evelyn makes this sound, like a mix between laughing and crying, putting her face in the palm of her hand.

"…Yeah, ya know it's funny, I actually know your brother, Ahkmenrah."

Evelyn’s head shot up out of her hand at this, studying him suddenly as if he was in fact something of worth.

"Oh, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, he knows Baby Brother, the favorite son."

"Yeah, good kid," says Larry clearly oblivious to the bitterness in Kahmunrah's voice. Evelyn nudged his foot with hers in warning.

Ahkmenrah must not have ever spoken of his brother. It was understandable, but it did put this guard, Larry at rather a disadvantage.

"Oh, isn't he just? You know, Mother and Father always gave him the best of everything, and I do mean everything. They even gave him the throne, the throne which should have been mine."

"Uh, he never mentioned that…"

"Oh, I just bet he didn't. Well, never mind that. Now begins the era of Kahmunrah, because I have come BACK TO- oh never mind just give me that tablet."

"Don't give it to him, Gigantor!" shouts a small voice in the trailer.

"Quiet! Don't make me come in there!" Kahmunrah turned back to them, "That tablet is more powerful that you Larry Daley of Daley Devices can possibly realize. Bringing things to life,” his eyes glanced up as if he was thinking of a past lover, a smirk forming on his lips as his eyes landed on Evelyn, “That is merely a parlor trick. With it I shall bring forth my army from the lands of the dead. So if it's not too much trouble," he barked out an order in Egyptian and his soldiers held spears up to their necks, "Hand it over."

"Okay, here ya go," Larry said casually, handing the tablet over.”

"Are you off your nut!?" Sybil yelled at him.

"Wise decision," Kahmunrah said, and started away.

"Yeah, sorry," said Larry, "I just thought you wanted the cube."

"The Cube?"

"The Cube…of Rubic."

"Alright what is this Cube of Rubic?"

"It's the Cube!"

"We don't speak of it," Evelyn said, "You know what happened last time…"

"What?" Kahmunrah asks, sputtering a moment and looking at her with suspicion, as if he was trying to place a face he had forgotten.

"You know the continent of Pangea?" Sybil asked, “Well, let's just say it's not there anymore."

"Yeah," said Larry, "We don't blame you, I mean, your brother didn't wanna mess with it either. It's just you struck me as a next level sort of guy, my bad."

"Take me to this cube!" Kahmunrah ordered.

"Really, dude, we don't blame you…" Sybil said “You’ve got nothing to prove to us.”

The plan, whatever it was seemed to work as the three of them lead him to the mythical cube. Larry led and Sybil silently hoped he had an actual plan at the end of this wild goose chase. They finally approach a large rectangular crate, "Well, here we are."

"With the power of the tablet and of the Cube, my reign shall know no bounds!" Kahmunrah said, rubbing his hands together.

"Who're you talking to?" Sybil asked.

"No one…Everyone… It's just a general reminder. I don't need to explain myself to you!" he pointed to Larry, “open it!”

Larry carefully popped open the locks and out sprang a giant squid that knocked everyone around. The tablet went flying. Larry caught it and ran, Evelyn close behind. Sybil started running only to be picked up by the squid and flung towards Kahmunrah who grabbed her by a fist full of her black hair, "Come Back! I still have your friends!"

Neither of the pair stopped, they were chased by a few guards.

“Evelyn!” Kahmunrah screamed after her.

Sybil struggled against the guards that held her, forcing her to kneel.

Kahmunrah pressed close to her, “What have we here? Who are you now?”

Sybil glared at him as his fingers grasped her chin, “An apprentice are we?” he asked.

She tried to yank away. Failing that, she spat in his face. The blow that struck her jaw knocked her unconscious.


	2. The Feared Leaders

Sybil stared at the ceiling. She was in a box. Well, a trailer was a more effective term. It’s dark shadows pressed at her vision and she knew from the pain in her head that it would be a while until her vision adjusted. She heard the door slam shut and she realized that was what had woken her.

A man was shoved in. He was dressed in a uniform for a 19th century American army general. Her first, and immediate thought was, "Oh, thank you God!" If he was a general, it was likely that they would be able to escape soon enough. He would very likely have a plan of some sort.

He sat down on a wooden crate and began to brush his hair.

"Excuse me, sir," Sybil asked, "but, uh, seeing as you’re a general…and we're in quite a fix…I was wondering if maybe you had a plan?"

The man looks at hers with sad eyes, "You made me lose count…"

"Uh…so sorry, but as I said before…we sorta need a plan…"

"Darlin', I'm American, you’re American, and us Americans, we don't think, we do! When you build a house, do you plan it?"

"Yes…in great detail."

"Details are for the weak! And General George A Custer is not weak!"

"Custer?" Sybil started to walk away, rubbing her temples anxiously, "crap," she muttered, her fingertips finding the barbell through her eyebrow and fidgeting with it. She slid down back to sit next to an empty wooden crate.

“I concur,” A beautiful Native American woman said. Sybil looked at her a moment before looking back at the tiny miniatures as they worked on the crate.

"Don't worry!" yells a small voice next to her. Peering down to the voice, she discovered a very small cowboy. His posse worked by the wall with what looked like very tiny sticks of dynamite.

Swallowing her surprise at the discovery, she leaned down “Sir?”

"Unlike that dunderhead, I have a plan. See, I told all my workers to wire all our dynamite to that there rust hole."

"I like your plan…it's simple and easy to remember. But…is there anything I can do?"

"Just sit back and watch the progress. That's what I'm doin'."

“I’m Sybil,” she said.

“Jedidiah,” the cowboy sat on the edge of the wooden crate.

A few minutes later, one of the tiny cowboys brought a detonator and rested it in front of Jed who prepares to press the detonator down as a tiny Roman general, whom later introduced himself as Octavius, marched over, "You know that's not going to work…"

"Yeah? Well I'ma do it anyway!" Jed slammed the detonator down. There was a sound like rice crispies and a lot of smoke, but nothing else, "daggumit! I coulda sworn that'd work."

"I told you so!" said Octavius in a singsong voice.

Jed glared at him, clearly in no mood for his colleague's opinions on the topic of plans. The crate door busted open then and in came two men…at least…she was left to assume that they were men. The swatch of chain mail that hung from their helmets hid the guards’ faces. The two were garbed in a class of medieval armor that looked Russian. They looked around the crate, speaking in old Russian that Sybil barely understood. One pointed to Sybil, says something then hauled her out of the crate, roughly. She dragged her feet the whole way out, struggling against the steely hands that squeezed her arms.

They forced Sybil down to sit on a wooden crate in front of Kahmunrah who apparently has made a few acquaintances. He just looked at her with a smirk as if he was certain of his superiority, "now that you are present we may begin."

“You waited for me? How courteous of you,” Sybil snarled back.

“One must always be so with ones guests,” Kahmunrah’s waxy hand gently smoothed a few stray black curls from Sybil’s forehead, tucking the locks back over her ear. She jerked her face away from his hand. His smirk hardened and he looked down at her with cold searching eyes. It was only a moment but it felt as though it lasted forever. She could feel her skin crawling under her black cotton jumpsuit uniform.

He turned to the massive group of men behind him, and then set forth upon a rather conceited tangent in which he explained that he was half-god and was going to rule the world. Continuing, he introduced his new conspirators to each other and to Sybil with a tone of grandeur that made her wonder if he was speaking to impress her, his enemy as well as the men that were his allies.

Ivan VI Vasileyvich was dressed in silver silk robes with this black fur lining. The Russian-style crown that sat on his head matched said robes. His jewel-covered fingers were clasped around an ornately carved staff. His men were the ones that had hauled Sybil out of the crate. He raised a rather impressive eyebrow at the mention of his name.

“Dobriy vycher (Good evening),” Sybil said softly, bowing her head, a hand pressed gently against her heart.

Napoleon Bonaparte wore 19th century military garb. His jacket was made of blue and white wools, peppered with military metals. A sword hung by his side. Looking at his wrinkled stockings, and the tired look in his eyes, Sybil wondered if he had crawled out of the portrait of the Emperor by David in the National Portrait Gallery.

“A bona sera,” Sybil smiled.

Kahmunrah shot her a dirty look.

The last was Al Capone, who, in a younger and leaner version struck Sybil as almost familiar. She shook the feeling, deciding that it was likely just seeing his face in the paper when she was a child. He was dressed in a well tailored, pinstripe suit and wore a grey fedora and carted a Thompson submachine gun and, was completely monochromatic.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Do you really feel the need to speak so unendingly?” Kahmunrah asked in a low growl of a voice, leaning over her. She wondered if he had ever heard the word irony before.

“I’m only being polite,” she said gently, “I thought we were all being courteous here.”

He laughed, a hard barking sound and smacked her across the cheek with the flat of his hand. It was more a sound than pain, His finger pointed at her, “That is but a warning. The next I give will not be so kind.”

Sybil turned her face to look back up at him, a dark shade over her eyes.

"All I ask is your allegiance and in return, I offer you gentlemen the world, literally, are there any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," Capone asked, "How come youse's wearin' a dress?" A few of his colleagues made utterances of agreement as if this question had plagued their minds as well.

Sybil looked at him slowly, her head bowing, “Jesus fucking Christ, you have to be kidding me,” she muttered covering her face as she groaned.

"This is not a dress," Kahmunrah says calmly, ignoring her, "this is a tunic. It was the height of fashion three thousand years ago, I assure you. Any other questions?"

"Da," Ivan agrees, "this dress you are wearing…must we wear one of these, too?"

Sybil bit back the urge to point out that the robes Ivan already wore were very similar to a dress.

"No, of course not! Didn't you just hear what I said to Mr. Capone here? This is not a dress; it is in fact a tunic, very big difference. Any other questions?" Napoleon starts to put his hand up, "Any questions not about the dress-tunic?"

Napoleon puts his hand back down.

Sybil piped up, "I've got one! You said you were addressing the most feared leaders in all of history. So, I must wonder, why exactly I'm here, I mean, you waited for me to get here to do your cute little spiel, so…is it because you think that I'm a leader worthy of fear?" she smirked, wondering if she would be able to stall them at all, buying as much time as possible, even if that meant another smack.

They burst in to fits of laughter until their faces were red, or else dark, which would normally irk Sybil but it was better if they thought her no threat, "No, my dear," Kahmunrah said leaning forward to her as he spoke, "You are here so that you may witness the growing might of my forces and tremble in complete and total terror!" he stated dramatically.

As he'd leaned forward, Sybil leaned back. Now she leaned around him and peered at the three generals, "Ehn, I seen worse," she shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest.

Kahmunrah stared at her for a moment, closer than she personally would have liked to ever have him look at her. She shifted a little trying to regain any space that she could between the pair of them. A claw of a hand snatched her face roughly, dragging her close under his eyes. The look in his dark eyes was that of a man that was trying to remember someone that he hated, but that could not make the connection. “What is your name?”

“Billie,” she said quickly, without knowing why. Billie had been what her uncles had called her, and her closest friends. A few of his friends did still.

He stared a moment longer before throwing her face out of his grasp. She felt a pang of fear growing in her stomach as he went back to his egocentric ranting.

Deciding, for reasons she could not exactly pinpoint, that it was the best option at the moment, Sybil slid silently and slowly along on the crate so that no one might notice her sudden movements. She had lost all hope to operate as a decoy. She backed very slowly until Napoleon turned his hawk-like eyes on her and she froze before turning and running as fast as she could.

“She is running!” Napoleon screeched pointing at her, and in the distance, she could hear him yell the alarm. Looking around quickly, she climbed up the side of one of the stacks of crates, slipping a little as she went, her boots slipping against the metal, but she gripped tightly to one of the bars that transversed the crate, and her feet swung wildly in the air. She slammed back against the metal and winced, painfully, before pulling herself back up by her aching arms.

She leapt the distance between crates, her combat boots slammed against the metal roofs of the crates. She needed a plan. She needed a plan. What would Meyer do? Was he here? It was an odd thought that kept occurring to her, but was it possible that all of her uncles were here somewhere in the large archival space of the Smithsonian?

xoxox

Back at the site of her escape, Kahmunrah fumed, “Send your men out and track each of them, and bring them back to me!” he seethed, not making much sense, his knuckles turning white. Kahmunrah took a deep breath, composing himself, “Mr. Capone, find that one,” he gestured to where Sybil had been sitting, “Bonaparte, find the guard, and Ivan the other woman. She has short copper hair and is dressed all in black. She will answer to Evelyn.”

“Which guard is it, exactly?” Napoleon asked, “There should be many, yes?”

“No. My soldiers had detained the others before they were… misplaced,” Kahmunrah said glaring in the direction of the girl. There was something about her, he just couldn’t remember what it was, “Now!”

Perhaps he had expected them to scramble to do his bidding, but then he had forgotten that they were leaders in their own right, so they walked at whatever pace pleased them to go. "Bring them back unharmed!" Kahmunrah orders, as an after thought.

"Keep your hands to yourselfs," Capone translated to his goons, "That means you, Tony."

Accardo just smirked, shrugged and went after Paul Ricca.

"Come on, Gallucio," Capone said, walking in the direction the girl had gone.

"Alright, Boss."

It crossed Capone’s mind that there was a lingering hope that he found her first. He hated saying so, but he didn’t trust a few of his boys… at least not with women. He didn’t really have any reason to think that, Not could he really pinpoint what he was concerned about, or why.

Frank Gallucio he trusted…sometimes. He was fairly loyal, even if he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Being that he wasn’t that bright, and the attention span of a fish, and Capone had to constantly remind him that they did indeed have a job to do. Gallucio had to practically be dragged away from the dinosaur skeletons.

"Sorry, Boss…" he says looking at his shoes.

"I'm not mad at you."

"Hey, Boss," he grabs Al’s arm and pulled him back a few feet then pointed up to the top of the crates, "Look."

The girl, Billie, was up on top of the crates, twenty of so feet in the air, barely visible. She was running.

"Come on," Al started to follow her, a few feet back, so she wouldn’t see them right away. She was pretty fast, but when she came to the end of a row, Capone smiled, “We got her now.”

Instead of climbing down, she jumped the ten-foot gap to the next row. Al gawped up at her, and they resumed following her. How on earth could she have made that jump? How did she make the next one?

She got to a third gap, and as she prepared to jump across, her feet just starting to leave the metal, he shouted out at her. They heard her scream out an odd word as she fell. It wasn’t English or Italian or Latin, but it sounded heavy somehow.

Al and Gallucio froze when she hit the ground. She had died. It startled Al for some reason. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen someone die before, hell it wasn’t as if it was the first time he was responsible for someone’s death.

Maybe it was because it was unintentional. He hadn’t meant for her to fall and snap her spine.

From where they were, Al could see her leg pointed in a way that just looked wrong.

"Cristo…" Gallucio mutters, crossing himself, starting towards the dead girl on the floor. Al followed him, not really wanting to, but moved by some grotesque curiosity. When they were two or three feet from her, she moved. She wasn’t dead after all, but no one could survive a fall like that.

Sybil pushed herself up to sit, moving her leg gingerly, cursing under her breath.

"Are you alright?" Capone asked.

"Just fucking peachy," she said without looking up. She moved the leg quickly, putting it right, making a sickening, crack in the joint of her hip.

"We seen ya fall," Gallucio explained, "We thought youse’d croaked."

"No," Sybil chuckled, wincing but trying to suppress the urge to groan that pressed her brow. Then, looking up at them for the first time, she paled. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, "crapinahat!" she scrambled up and started running. She got maybe five feet before Gallucio caught her and held her up off the floor, one thick arm around her waist, "Help! Someone! Anyone! The Chicago Outfit's trying to lift me! Help!"

Capone put a hand over her mouth, "Jesus, doll, you got some pipes on ya."

She narrows her eyes at him.

"Boss, want I should make her quiet?"

Her head shook wildly, as she is put on edge by the proposition.

"No, Gallucio, she's not gonna cause no trouble, is you?"

She shook her head, at looked innocently, and said what sounds like, "I promise." So Capone moved his hand and her head goes back and she screams, "SOME ONE CALL ELIOT NESS!"

Al put his hand back over her mouth, "Now, I consider that causin' trouble. You want Gallucio to extinguish you?"

She just glared at him. Winging her foot, she hits him in the shin, then whacked her head back against Gallucio's nose, then ran like someone was pointing a gun at her.

She ran. Maybe she could get away from it all and live in DC for a while. How long would it take them to find her again?

Capone rubbed his shin, "Come, Gallucio, we gotta track that broad."

"Can't we feed her to the dinosaurs an' call it even?"

Al looked at him seriously, "No, Frank," Gallucio knew Capone was serious since he used his first name. Capone didn’t say so, but he seriously considers implementing this plan.


	3. Birds in a Trap

Chapter 3

Evelyn was separated from the idiotic Daley after they had crossed paths with a certain famous aviatrix. She needed a plan and she was fairly sure any plan of Daley's would fail miserably. She couldn’t overcome her irritation with how terribly wrong this mission, which should have been so simple, had gone. Daley’s plans so far had but frankly she was so distracted by his interruption. If he hadn’t butted in, then she and Sybil would have been able to get the damn tablet and get out.

She went up the nearest stairway, anything to escape this labyrinth of shipping trailers and dust. That stairway led in to the American History Museum, through which she figured Daley and Amelia had run, as everything was now alive. The tablet must have come this way. Unless, she thought her heart sinking, the archives being under the museums meant that every museum was already alive. She plopped down in the “flag gallery” where the first American flag was housed. It was quiet so she could plan.

Sybil. She needed to get the girl back before anyone realized what she was.

She needed to come up with a plan, a device, anything. But she hadn’t been expected Kahmunrah. Why did it have to be him? Planning around a psychopath was never easy. The only possible plan was to push him to his own destruction but how? She would need to see Sybil to know how she was being held and work around that, unless Sybil would do that on her own. Maybe she would eventually, but she knew Sybil and confinement didn’t suit her. She would run at the first opportunity. That wasn’t ideal either. What if she got away?

Evelyn took a deep, unneeded breath, squeezing her eyes shut. One problem at a time.

Her ears discerned the distant sound of Russian voices speaking the language, inferring, or rather assuming, that they were looking for her. She expanded her mind on the voices back to the men, or mannequins as they spoke. Their leader barked orders and led them along the marble halls. They would spread out to find her. She pressed against his mind for a moment to read it and pulled back as quickly as she could.

Apparently Kahmunrah had recruited the Czar, Ivan IV and set him on her trail. Having realized that the time allotted to her plans was interrupted, Evelyn made her escape up to the second floor. There was an exhibit dedicated to all the wars involving America since its inception as an independent nation. She thought a moment that it was the perfect place to hide as it was loud and there were a lot of people moving around.

Perfect, that is, until she got as far as World War II, when she heard Russian being yelled. She wasn't sure if it was Ivan, or the Cold War display through the little tunnel over there. People were moving in and out of this mural on the wall of the Sailor and the Nurse in Times Square on VJ-Day. Without thinking, she moved towards the mural and put her hand on the wall. It went in to the picture, and she followed it. In to the crowd she went, looking back over her shoulder, and doing her best to blend in. The whole place was monochromatic except for a rectangle where the outside world was still colored. From the rectangle leered Ivan and a few Streltsi. They started in after her, shouting after her, so she turned and ran. As the entire city of New York is partying, she bumped people as she went but she couldn't really stop and apologize for obvious reasons. A hand grabbed her arm almost roughly. Believing it to be one of the men after her, she drew back a fist as she turned to face her captor…

Or a kid sailor…

"Hey, what's your rush?"

She looked back. Ivan was within sight, but he hadn't spotted her yet, so she turned and walked quickly away.

"Are those jerks followin' you?" the boy asked. Evelyn didn't answer so he went on, "Ya know that's the second group of weirdos I've seen in the last hour! Before them there was this guy, Daley I think, and these guys were following him looked like they were trussed for Mardi Gras or somethin'. I can help you."

Evelyn turned to look at him levelly, "Look, junior-"

"It's Joey."

"Fine, Joey, those men are some of the most ruthless men in all of history. How can a boy like you help me against them?"

"Well, you're a woman-"

Her grey eyes narrowed dangerously, before she turned on her heel and started away.

"Look, you said those guys are ruthless, and I take your word for it. That's why I want to help you!"

She looked around, "Ok, Joey, you get me out of here without my being caught, I will let you tag along."

"Deal," he opened the door of a photo shop and gave her a shove in, closed the door and leans against it outside. A minute or two later a voice with a thick Russian accent said, "We are looking for a girl."

"Yeah, so'm I!" Joey said cheerfully, “My ma’s always on me about bringin’ home a nice girl-“

"Don't play dumb!" Ivan says as Evelyn peered through the window. “A young woman, short red hair, and a name of Evelyn. You know this woman, yes?”

"I didn't see nothin'!" Joey said indignantly. One of the streltsi grabbed Joey and put him in an arm lock, and applied pressure resulting in Joey yelling at them in a high pitched whine, "She went down the street, three blocks then turned left! Now please lemme go!"

"Thank you, boy," Ivan said, calling off his soldiers. They marched away, and when they were completely out of sight, Joey opened the door and led Evelyn out, wincing at his aching arm, "come on, let's get you outta here!" he escorted her to the exit.

Evelyn hurried out through the frame, but Joey looked hesitant, waiting a moment before he followed her though. Once outside of the image, he was still monochromatic. Evelyn started away from the mural, Joey close on her heels.

"So, what are we up to?" Joey asked.

"My ward is being held captive by a psychotic pharaoh. I have to save her,” Evelyn explained quickly, making up terms that would better serve her purpose. She did not want to confuse him with terms he might not understand.

"You have a kid? How old're you?"

"If you are going to tag along with me, you need to follow two simple rules; you do what I say and you don't ask questions. Do you think you can so that?"

He saluted, lazily, "Yes ma'am!"

He followed her through the archives after they quickly, and not as thoroughly as Evelyn would as liked, searched the museum, and go up into the National Portrait Gallery. The statue of Hermes that had stood in the fountain in the lobby was shooting around with the cupids from the twin fountains down the halls. A few other neoclassical sculptures filled the space with laughter and music.

Hermes, with his cherubic allies, flew in the large space of the atrium, narrowly missing Evelyn and Joey as they ducked out of the way. Evelyn fought the urge to shout at the sculpted deities and pressed on, grinding her teeth.

“Watch where you’re goin’ why don’t you?!” Joey yelled as a cherub swiped one of his legs from under him.

Evelyn snatched his arm, “not every thing requires a response,” she growled trying to drag him along.

The revitalized flying stone figures laughed. Hermes called out to him, “Yes boy, listen to your mother!”

A depiction of Calliope broke off in the middle of a verse, “My lord Hermes, shall we make jest of these fool mortals?”

A Cherub laughed out, as Evelyn dragged the boy by his arm, “You do not want to play with us, boy?” He swooped down and snatched the hat from Joey’s dark head.

"Hey! Come on, guys! Give me my cap back! Jesus, if my sarge catches me outta full uniform he'll put me on kitchen duty for a month!" he complained chasing a cupid.

"Heads up!" the cupid chucked the cap to Hermes. A man intercepted the hat with the same coloring as Joey, except he isn't a sailor or a soldier. He looks more like a gangster, or a detective from an old movie.

"This yours?" he asked holding the hat out to Joey.

"Yessir…" said Joey, rather pale for someone who was printed on photo paper.

The man raised his brows, "Ya want it back?"

Joey snatches it nervously, "Uh, sorry, sir," he plops the hat on his head. “Thank you, sir.”

"You know me," said the bemused man. It wasn’t a question.

"Yessir, Mr. Capone, sir," said Joey, nervously.

Capone just chuckled.

"Ah, there you are!" shouts a voice. Evelyn didn’t need to turn to know that it was Czar Ivan.

"Here we are," she said mundanely.

"This's the dame you was s'posed to catch?" Capone asked.

"At least I caught my charge," Ivan said.

"I caught mine!" Capone said, "Hey, Gallucio, come'ere real quick."

A large man came forward with Sybil over his shoulder.

"Sybil, what are you doing?" Evelyn asked.

"You know how I do hate walking," Sybil said over her shoulder, with dry mirth.

"Let's get the skirts and sammy bellbottoms, here, back to the Lady," Capone says, smirking at Ivan, turning out of the room. Gallucio follows him. Ivan herded them with his staff like he's a shepherd and they were the sheep.

“Lady?” Evelyn asked, looking up at Sybil.

“Don’t get the started please. If I have to hear one more joke about men in dresses, I’m going to jab a fork into my ears,” Sybil replied.

"I tried," Joey said.

"I know."

Sybil looked at Evelyn and the boy at her side as they walk behind Gallucio so that we can speak with her, "Who're you?" she asked Joey suspiciously, narrowing her amber eyes at him.

"Joseph Motorola," he doffed his cap, "at your service, ma'am," he stared at her with wide eyes and didn’t look away as he spoke to her. Evelyn fought the urge to roll her eyes. Sybil had one of those faces that people liked to stare at. She had pale olive skin and dark hair that fell in thick, soft waves around her face. The planes of her cheekbones were round and soft. Her hips were full and rounded as her lips. All of these things giving her an exotic and alluring look. It was useful sometimes, but others it was simply irritating to have people gawking at her.

"You’re a navy man?" Sybil asked, smiling at him, and playing him.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't you ma'am me. I'll bet yer older'n me. My name's Billie,” she rested her chin in the palm of her hand, relaxing. She liked being Billie. Billie was easy, “Billie Marlow.”

"Alright, Billie," he says nervously smiling.

"I prefer the Air Force to the Navy any day, but you sailors get the best uniform of the lot."

"We do, don't we? Tell me, what's so swell about the Air Force? They're just a bunch of Flyboys."

Evelyn looked at Sybil, waiting for her reaction.

"My father was Air Force, before…he got enlisted in IBSID."

Evelyn looked that the girl, a look of confusion lighting her face. What was Sybil talking about? Her father had never to Evelyn’s knowledge been in the Air Force.

"What's IBSID?"

"International Bureau for Supernatural Investigation and Defense," Evelyn said to him, "That's what we do. You've never heard of it because technically speaking it doesn't exist,” she said pointedly at Sybil, who rolled her eyes at Evelyn.

"Oh, a government secret…" Joey says as if he knows all about that sort of thing.

"Did you miss the part where I said international?” she teased, “It's not any one government,” Evelyn said harsher than she had meant to.

"Supernatural though? That stuff ain't real."

"So, you have another explanation for how everything in the museums are coming to life?" Sybil says, "Because I'd love to hear it, Einstein."

"Ok…"

"There now, we all look stupid sometimes…"

"Yes," Evelyn stated, "and Sybil is quite experienced in looking stupid."

Sybil made a face at her supervisor.

"Hey," Joey says to her, "can I ask you a question?"

"If you'd like," Sybil said, smiling softly at him.

"Are you really her daughter?"

"Yeah, can't you see the family resemblance?" Sybil said, too seriously. That managed to shut him up, as it was fairly clear that they were not related. Curling tendrils of hair fell into her wide green and amber eyes and by the side of her face. She had a small silver ring in her right nostril and through her left eyebrow.

Evelyn on the other hand was an elegantly slender woman. She stood tall at almost six feet tall. Her skin was flawless. She had a fair, English complexion and pale grey wide set eyes. Her long oval face watched out from under the gentleman’s cut to her auburn hair. There was something ethereal to her and fantastical in her well-tailored men’s suit, but where she had the potential of beauty, it was a hard and cutting edge sort of attractiveness that took time to really see. It was like looking at a big cat, because as soon as you saw the beauty and the grace of it, you were reminded of something inertly dangerous.

Sybil looks like she regrets making him feel bad, so she said, "Oh, chin up, Joe! Could always be worse! Could be in my situation, being carted about on some ding-dong’s shoulder like a sack of turnips!" she yelled the last bit at Gallucio's head. Joey cracks a smile, "Hey! There ya go! You know…you’re kinda cute…" she said, as if she was telling him a secret.

For a few seconds nothing happens. When those few seconds are over, Evelyn ran into Gallucio, who screeched to a stop in an attempt to not run over his boss who was wheeling around Gallucio and Evelyn to Joey and snatched him by the collar, pulling him up off the floor, "That one’s mine," he said sternly, “You got it?”

"I'm sorry, Mr. Capone sir, I didn't know it was like that, sir!" Joey says, hands up.

And from the look on Sybil’s face she didn't either, "Put him down!" she squirmed on the large man’s shoulder.

Capone ignored Sybil for a minute but ultimately he decided Joey was not worth the trouble, or perhaps he had a soft touch to him, and released the boy. He took a gun from one of his goons and said, "get back to where ever you came from or else they're gonna have to wash you off the walls with a fire hose.”

"Yessir!" Joey turns and fled the vicinity.

'Well…he lasted longer than I thought he would,’ Evelyn thought to herself.

Capone took Sybil down from Gallucio’s shoulder almost gently and held her by her elbow, and started away, "Ivan, take the other ahead, I gotta talk to this doll."

His goons followed him and Ivan herded Evelyn forward again.

"Nice stick," she remarked in the same dry tone that Sybil had earlier used, trying to get on better terms with her captor than Sybil seemed to be with hers. At least she knew what situation Sybil was in, thought she failed to see how it could help.

xoxox

Capone told his boys to "take a walk" then watched them until he was sure they're out of hearing from the little gallery they were in. Sybil however didn’t, "Since when am I yours?"

"Since I said so," he said, still watching his lackies, and not looking back at her quite yet.

"Don't be an ass," she pinched her cheeks while his back was turned, her hands dropping as he started to turn back to her. “By the by, has this whole chauvinist, roughneck bit ever actually gotten you a woman?”

When he looked at her, his brow was furrowed, "You ain't exactly in a position to talk to me like that.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she stayed silent. If Evelyn had been still free she would not have to be in any position. There had been a chance of Evelyn succeeding if Sybil did not. But now she’d have to figure it out, since pulling Evelyn out of a brood was damn near impossible. She looked at him carefully, trying to decide if she could pull this off. She leaned her back against the nearest unoccupied wall and let her shoulders tremor a little. She stared at the marble floor as if in the grip of terror, which she knew she should be.

"Calm down,” he said, his voice loosing the edge it had carried. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Maybe… maybe it is not you I’m worried about,” she muttered.

It was Capone’s turn to be at a loss of words.

“He asked you to bring me back to him, yeah?” she chewed her lip.

“Uh, look, Ms…?”

“Sybilla,” she said, peering at him anxiously, “My friends call me Billie, or at least they would if I had any friends,” she joked.

“Yeah, that’s right. Uh, Sybilla, it’s not for me to say what happens to you.”

“You know what’s going to happen to me. When you succeed…” she said slowly.

“You sound sure of us,” he chuckled, leaning his arm against against the wall.

She looked up at him, making a mental note, “Should I not?” she tilted her head up a little, her lips parted.

Capone turned his head back to look down at her. As he moved his mouth fell open to speak, but he could not remember what it was he had meant to say. There was something about this odd girl that struck him dumb. Something about those eyes kept bothering him.

“Mr. Capone?” she asked, almost timidly, stepping a little too close to him. The unspoken message was clear. _Help me_.

He straightened, “Come on,” he took her by the arm, but gently, as if he was leading a child.

 


	4. Power Shift

Chapter Four

Capone brought Sybil back without any physical signs of trauma, which Evelyn supposed that she could be thankful for that, but the girl was unusually quiet.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," she looked at Evelyn with a calm in her bright hazel eyes that did little to put Evelyn’s nerves to rest.

But Evelyn couldn’t exactly say anything else on the matter. But Sybil was acting oddly. Usually animated and verbal, she sat very still on the floor next to her, back straight ears perked up. Her eyes shifted to the right constantly. Evelyn didn’t ask why because if Sybil intended to allow her entrance into the loop, she would tell her guardian unbidden.

Evelyn looked where Sybil was trying not to, but to where her pert ears were keenly pointed. Capone was talking to Kahmunrah in quiet tones with an over-confident smirk on his face, leaning over the table that separated them. Sybil watched them too intently.

Across the room, Al leaned with all the careful confidence that he had grown over his years fighting his way up the food chain of the streets. While he found himself more often than not seduced into the arms of violent rage, sometimes things needed a more smooth approach, “Look, all’s I’m saying is what’s a piece between friends.”

“I would really rather not part with that specific ‘piece’ as you so quaintly put it,” Kahmunrah replied, a biting edge of irritation clinging to his voice, he kept his hands behind his back, “I simply do not see what you find so completely irresistible in that fox-faced, gawping board. Especially when one considers that you are taking something that I specifically asked you to bring to me.”

“I like a challenge, what can I say?” Al smiled, showing all of his teeth, it was almost threatening, but for the genuinely jovial tone in his voice, “and when I see something I want I have a hard time letting go of that want. I mean, come on, can you really blame me?”

Kahmunrah’s brows furrowed and he looked over at Billie, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at, Mr. Capone.” The woman wasn’t ugly, but that nose ring…She looked as though she had gotten confused, and mistaken herself for some tribe of Bedouin. Her face was too lean, and that upturned nose made Kahmunrah think of a rodent, and her oversized eyes did little to help the comparison.

Al’s eyes went to the girl, “That is a fine piece of ass, and I want her. It’s one girl, and if we’re all in this deal together, I don’t see what the problem is. You’re gonna be able to have every woman you want.”

“Except that one?” Kahmunrah asked, “The very one I am asking you to stay away from. She is my captive, and my property.”

Al nodded thoughtfully, looking back to Billie, Sybil, something gnawing at the back of his mind that he couldn’t place. There was something he was supposed to do, “So what’s your price then?”

Kahmunrah’s cold eyes shifted back to Capone with calculated ease, “Why?”

“Why?” Capone chuckled, “Why does any man want a woman?”

That wasn’t it. There was something else, some need to protect her, the same way that Kahmunrah felt a deep moving need to cause her harm. She was a witch, surely and had placed Capone under some spell. He looked back to the girl, calculating further.

“Mr… Acardo, was it?” Kahmunrah asked, “Bring Billie to me please.”

Capone fought the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatics, because he had used them himself before. He nodded and Tony dragged Sybil to the table, rougher than necessary, and shoved her into a chair.

“Billie,” Kahmunrah smiled, rounding the table to study Sybil, “That was the name you gave, wasn’t it? Is that short for anything?”

Sybil kept her face straight ahead, but her eyes downcast. There was something so familiar, that frustrated Al. He knew her, he was certain.

Kahmunrah snatched her face roughly, forcing her to look at him, “I believe it is polite to speak when spoken to.”

“No, it isn’t short for anything,” she replied, with a sarcastically simpering smile, feeling like there was something about this that was off.

“Mr. Capone here was just asking what price I would put on your little head,” Kahmunrah went on, leaning back on the edge of the table, watching her, “Can you think of any reason he might do that?”

Sybil shrugged, “The mind reels with possibilities, Your Majesty.”

“I think you are a witch and you have perhaps cast some spell upon him,” Kahmunrah went on, “Either that or your company is more sublime than I can possibly imagine. Either case, either you are a witch, or a concubine, begs the question of why I should let you go.”

“Did you mean for me to help solve this problem?” Sybil asked, “I certainly am honored, sir, but as it stands I don’t think this is how being a War Prisoner works. It’s actually more pleasant than I imagined. What time is tea?”

Kahmunrah chuckled, before reaching out a hand and slapping her across the face, “I do so hate a mouth on a woman.”

“That must look odd,” Sybil muttered under her breath, looking carefully at Capone, who mimed shutting up.

“I want you and your men to swear undying fealty to me,” Kahmunrah said in a clipped tone, turning away from Sybil.

“Done,” Capone said, offering his hand.

Kahmunrah didn’t move his hands from behind his back and walked from the table, in effect dismissing Capone.

“Nice doing business with you,” Capone smiled, trying to keep the sarcasm from dripping out.

Capone gently took Sybil’s arm and walked her back over to Evelyn, “Just stay over there, while I sort out the rest of this mess, ok?”

Sybil let go of the breath she had been holding, and her posture relaxed slightly.

Evelyn wondered about what she had missed for a good long minute.

xoxox

Capone returned and sat next to Gallucio. He was polishing his gun, something he tended to do when he was nervous, whether the gun needed it or not.

"What's on your mind?" Capone asked him, with a sense of beleaguered responsibility.

"You're married…"

"I am aware of this fact."

"Well, if you're takin' in another girl, don't ya think Mae might be a little…ya know, pissed?"

"I ain't takin' in another girl."

"It's just…Mae scares me sometimes…She gave me $500 to keep you from cheatin' on her. And if she finds out 'bout that other dame, she's gonna take it out on me."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I ain't cheatin'on her. I love my wife, Frank. No matter what I do with this doll, I promise you I ain't cheatin' on Mae. Alright? I promise." Only part of it was a lie. Gallucio seemed happy enough to take Mae’s money, but he had never interfered in the past. Al wondered what had brought on this sudden sense of duty.

This conversation was apparently not make Gallucio feel any better, and Capone decided that a little worrying might do him good, “Bring the girl over here.”

Gallucio got up wordlessly, and went over to where Sybil sat beside Evelyn, and pulled her up by the shoulder of her jumpsuit and led her over to Al. He left the two of them with a silent, composed tantrum.

“Sit,” Al said, not looking up. He had taken Gallucio’s cleaning kit and was wiping down his own gun.

Sybil sat on the offered space next to him on the stone steps, watching him, "Need some help?"

"No, I can manage," Al replied calmly.

Sybil nodded looking back at Evelyn, then at Al. She was for once at a complete loss for what to say. She shifted awkwardly in her chair, watching the people around them, trying to get a sense of the people around them.

“You belong to me now, alright? So quit with your worrying.”

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes down turned. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Kahmunrah paced back and forth, and made a mental note of it.

“I don’t want any trouble outta you, alright?” Al put the gun and the cleaning rag aside and ran an exasperated hand down his face before looking at her carefully, “I have a feeling you’re gonna be trouble anyway.”

Sybil shrugged, “Not much I can do about your feelings, is there?”

He studied her, “Who are you?”

Her brow furrowed, “That’s a broad question.”

“No, I’ve had this feeling since I met you that I know you from somewhere and it won’t shake,” he touched her cheek, “It’s startin’ to piss me off.”

A voice rang out, breaking his off, "Boss, We found this one tryin' to escape through one of the rust holes in the crate," One of Capone’s employee’s, Paul Ricca goes right past Capone to Kahmunrah, leaving him wondering what it was he was paying them for before remembering he had made a deal.


	5. Liars and Killers

Chapter 5

Sybil watched with absolutely no surprise as Napoleon Bonaparte shoved Larry Daley into the display room, and she started up before Capone gently guided her out to what he hoped would be out of the way, setting her down in a chair to the side.

"Stay here, alright?" he muttered to her.

Kahmunrah got up and crossed the floor to Larry, one of Ivan's buddies brought Evelyn over to stand beside Larry. Sybil wondered if there was something about having the pair of them shoved together into the center of the room so that Kahmunrah could walk dramatically about the room and look intimidating.

"Well well well, Mr. Daley…" Kahmunrah said, "It seems that you are now familiar with Monsieur Napoleon, now allow me to introduce the rest of my associates." He waves at Ivan and Capone as he names them, then snatches the tablet out of Larry's hands, "Thank you." He turned toward the gate to the underworld and put the tablet in place, tapping the squares, in what looks like random order, "Finally, my beautiful, beautiful army of the damned will be unleashed!" he turned towards the assembled people, wild eyed.

"Was something supposed to happen?" Sybil whispered to Evelyn.

Kahmunrah narrowed his eyes at her, then turned back to the tablet and whacked the little square pieces again, once more nothing happens, "Well, I guess Mother and Father may have slightly changed the combination on me…"

"There is writing on this tablet," Ivan said, "Perhaps they are instructions?"

"I don't know. I can not read."

Everyone was quiet for a minute. Ivan broke the quiet, "What do you mean you can't read?" he seemed actually insulted by the idea that someone might actually not endeavor at some point in their lives to read, even in a language as complex as hieroglyphs.

"Where's your reader now?" Evelyn asked, coyly.

"Shut up!" Kahmunrah growled.

Larry chuckled, clearly relieved with how this was all turning out.

Ivan rounded on him, “You were guard of this tablet! You perhaps know its secrets!"

"Huh?" Larry's eyes went wide, in shock, "I don't really-"

"Do you like your feet?" Ivan barked.

"Wha- yeah, I like my feet. Why?"

"Because I will put them in place where you can never use them again!"

"I don't know anything about the tablet…" Larry seemed confused about the strange turn this had taken.

"Do not lie to me. I can smell a lie upon a man!" he towered over Larry, clearly in his space, and then suddenly backs off, "He tells the truth. He knows nothing."

Larry looked ready to faint, he regains his color relatively quickly, and musters up the guts to chuckle, "Wow, I guess this is a real downer to you, I mean, you've waited thousands of years to bring your army…but now…you can't seem to get it open…"

"Never fear," Kahmunrah, said, "I shall wait a thousand more if I must."

"Good, because in a few hours you'll be just standing there in a frustrated position. Then I'll just walk out of here with my buddies."

"Hmm, all night? Well, he doesn't," Kahmunrah, pointed at Jed in his little birdcage. He walked slowly toward the gangster holding the cage, "Open that cage," he orders, causing Jed to freak out.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Sybil yelled at him, straining against Gallucio’s hand.

"Can it," Capone said over his shoulder, shooting her a look.

"No touching!" Jed screamed, "Don't you man handle me!"

“Do not worry. I shall not hurt you. Oops,” Kahmunrah dropped the cowboy into an hourglass, closed it and flipped it over, “I lied.”

"Pick on some one your own size!" Sybil shouted at the Pharaoh.

“I think,” Kahmunrah said, pacing slowly over to Sybil, “that I should like it better if you kept your mouth shut from now on,” he stopped short of her, and leaned down to stare at her. Something clicked into place behind his eyes, and he snatched Sybil by the top of her head, jerking her head forward. His fingers trailed over the back of her head desperately then stopped suddenly.

Al started forward. Something about this display made him uncomfortable, and he could tell he wasn’t the only one. Napoleon had looked away, sharing a disconcerted look with Ivan.

Evelyn reached out and snatched his arm, yanking him back. She shook her head, and bit the inside of her lip.

Larry stepped closer to Evelyn, “What is going on?”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sybil struggled against the hands undoing the pins that held her hair back. The black waves of her hair fell down around her face, “Fucking crazy-!”

He snatched her face in his hands, a cruel smile breaking across his face, “In fact I think you should learn your place. Don’t you agree, Sybilla?” He stood up with a smirk as if he had put together some puzzle and started away, gesturing vaguely to McGurn, one of Capone’s quieter associates as Sybil glared at him, “Would you be so kind?”

McGurn nodded, almost as if bowing. He looked suddenly as if something had taken a hold of him and he cracked his knuckles before punching Sybil square in the mouth, splitting her lip open on her teeth and busting her gums open. Suddenly blood poured into her mouth. The impact of McGurn’s fist shoved Sybil back into Gallucio hard.

Evelyn starts forward, a hard look on her face, but Ivan's guards hold her back. “Let go of me!” she called as the urgency came into her voice at the sight of Sybil eyes going blank as McGurn turned back to look at her, having been distracted by Evelyn’s concern.

Sybil started up, her eyes blank and dark. She struggled against Gallucio’s hand, which confined her to her chair.

Evelyn pulled a small leather book from her pocket and quickly chanted out an intonation as she saw Sybil begin to reach for Gallucio’s gun, “Flores en kalyx tres. Quorum unum est viride.” She watched Sybil and hoped that no one would hear her.

Sybil slipped back to the floor as if her knees had given out, spasms wracking her body. Evelyn rushed to her side, grasping her by the chin, and shoving a piece of rubber between her teeth into her mouth, “Sybil. Come back to my voice,” She was snapping her fingers over the girls’ eyes.

Capone crouched beside them, taking off his over coat and bundling it under Sybil’s head without a word. He cradled Sybil’s head gently with one hand.

“Open your eyes. Sybil. Open your eyes!” She lay flat after a moment, and Evelyn sat her up, “Did you take your pills?”

Sybil didn’t answer for a moment, just swallowed dryly, and pushed the rubber piece out of her mouth with her tongue, “What happened?”

“You just had a little seizure,” Evelyn said, watching Sybil’s eyes carefully, before covering them with her hand and taking a small flashlight from her pocket to check for neurological damage.

“She is cursed,” Ivan mumbled to Napoleon, with certainty, “Or is perhaps she is a witch.”

Napoleon ooked aghast at the Czar, “Many great men through history have had epilepsy. Caesar for example had seizures.”

“Nonsense, she is likely possessed. We should burn her to be certain.”

“Do not be so superstitious, you old goat!” Napoleon shouted.

“Gentlemen!” Kahmunrah clapped his hands to get their attention, like a kindergarten teacher.

“You need to take your pills, yes?” she said sitting her up, slowly with Capone’s help, which she seemed grateful for as Sybil groaned softly.

“My head hurts,” Sybil said quietly, leaning against Capone’s shoulder, feeling suddenly and inexplicably safe.

“If you will let me take Sybil away, I will find your combination,” Evelyn said, stepping up to Kahmunrah, “I’m sure it is in the Bureau Archives somewhere.”

"No," Kahmunrah sneered, "She will stay here with us. Insurance, you call it. But, don't worry. Mr. Capone will keep her safe.” He looked at where Capone was wrapping Sybil in his overcoat. He picked Sybil up gently in his arms, and walked from the gallery, hushing her under his breath.

She needs a doctor!” Evelyn snapped, pointing at Sybil, “can’t you see that she isn’t well?!”

Kahmunrah stood closer to Evelyn than she was comfortable with, and whispered something in her ear that no one else could hear, before stepping back and looked at her inquiringly.

Larry watched confused and with the sense that he was in over his head as Evelyn shook her head.

Kahmunrah smirked before speaking loudly and clearly, “Then you should work quickly,” shoving the tablet roughly at Larry.

"But, we don't know how to even begin to decipher this thing!" Larry objected.

"Ah, what a pity." Kahmunrah says to Larry looking into the hourglass, "your little cowboy friend seemed like such a charming fellow. Ah well, at least I am certain we can find a perfectly good use for little Sybie… Tick tock, your hour has begun. Now, shoo." His cold eyes turned on Evelyn like a hawk and his lips raised in a smirk.

Evelyn stared back at him, with disgust burning in her stomach before Larry pulled on her arm to follow after him.

0x0x0

Blood dripped from Sybil’s lip. “Did I bite myself in the fit?” she asked, touching the red on her lip

Capone looked at her for a moment, "Come on," he motions a very reluctant Gallucio to follow, helping her up and along. Sybil can taste the metallic, copper taste and would personally prefer not to swallow, but not wanting to spit on the floors, and thus leaving her DNA and therefore creating more paperwork that she personally ever feel comfortable doing.

Capone carried her to a door with a very official looking sign stating that only "Authorized Personnel" were allowed to go beyond it into whatever secret recesses it protected, or was meant to. The door was not doing a particularly good job of protecting it’s secrets from the unauthorized, as it had been kicked in, and the alarms rigged into the door were ripped from its place.

He shifted her weight in his arms carefully, as he went through the gaping door.

Sybil pressed closer to him, before saying in a small teasing voice, “I don’t know if this is a new development in evolution, but women are actually quite capable of walking on their own…”

Capone didn’t give any indication that he had heard her.

Sybil nodded looking away, trying to see where they were going, “I thought it was funny, but stoicism has its value, I guess.”

“You really need to learn when to be quiet, has anyone ever told you that?” Al asked, his voice coiled and tense.

“Oh yeah, all the time.”

He stared ahead, his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“This is an example?” she looked up at him as if she had only just realized this.

“I thought it was funny,” Gallucio said quietly.

“Thanks, Mr. Gallucio!” Sybil called, before wincing and touching her lip again with a hiss.

Al set her down almost roughly out side of another door with the typical stick and triangle shape of a woman on the door, and took her by the arm, "Gallucio, wait here, will you?"

"Yes, Boss."

Capone closed the door behind them firmly, and released her arm to lock the door. He turned back to her, and took her face tenderly in his hands, tilting her face back, and looking closely at her. Sybil had the disorienting feeling of male proximity, doubled over by the sense of something else. There was a sense of him in her mind of something loving, but not something romantic.

He released her suddenly, and walked past her into a room attached to the locker room in which they were standing. Sybil hesitated to follow him, remembering inconveniently that he was in fact a dangerous man. He was a violent criminal with a brain eating disease, and in all likelihood an intense cocaine addiction by now.

The connecting room was a shower room like the ones in public gyms. There were six showers lining the right side of the room. Sad looking shower curtains hung in what was probably once a stark and sanitary place. On the opposite side there were sinks, again six, set in a thick metal counter with a long stretch of mirror on the wall over. There were a few worn wooden benches in the room dividing the showers and the sinks, and a wall of mirrors against the far wall. The sight of her reflection startled her. Her mouth was swollen and bloody, and her eyeliner and mascara had run down her cheeks in deep black bruises. Her black curly hair hung tangled or stuck out at all angles.

“Fuck,” she hurried over to the mirror, trying to smooth her hair out. She heard the soft sound of running water.

“Yeah, you look pretty busted,” he was testing the temperature of the water as he fidgeted with the knobs. It made her think of something a parent would do. His jacket was folded over next to him on the counter. His sleeves were rolled up and it looks like he was washing his hands.

Sybil turned to look at him, “You have such a way with women.” The sharp pain in her mouth has dulled to an uncomfortable ache.

He chuckled and glanced over his shoulder, "Well, come here."

Sybil moved forward though she didn't think she ought to and stood next to him, silently. From what she could see, Capone wasn't washing his hands after all. A white cloth, probably a handkerchief sits in the water that fills the sink half way, part of it in the water, part out.

"Sit," he patted the counter for her. Sybil hopped up on the counter top as he asked. He picked up the cloth and took hold of her face, Sybil edged back, so he tried to reassure her, "Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt ya."

"You'll forgive me if I'm on edge," she said sitting on the counter, feeling like she should be at a doctor’s office or something, “This whole situation is rather odd.”

"Yeah, guess you're right," he started to reach for her face, but thought better of it, and held the damp cloth out to her, "your mouth must be smartin'."

Sybil nodded shortly and took the thing from him, faced the mirror and dabbed at her lip.

“How long has that been happening?” Capone asked, gently.

“The seizures?”

“Yeah, them,” Capone, said more carefully.

“As long as I can remember I guess,” she said, spitting the blood that was pooling in her mouth, “Sorry…”

“Is it like, uh… epilepsy?” he asked.

She shrugged, “I guess.”

"I'm sorry," he says watching water swirl down the drain. He hadn’t meant for that to happen.

Sybil didn't say anything to this because in a rather frightening way that she couldn't explain what he should be apologizing for, but eventually she said, “I read that Dostoyevsky had seizures. Some of his best writing was after he had a fit.”

“That so,” Capone asked, a dry humor in his voice.

She hummed affirmative, trying to wipe the makeup from her cheeks, “Bonaparte too,” she looked at him in the mirror, “he seemed defensive about Ivan wanting to burn me for it as a witch.”

Capone shifted his weight and leaned his hips back against the counter, a thoughtful look on his face

"It's alright,” Sybil folded her lip down to look at it. It was healing up already, and the swelling had started to subside, "I'll be fine."

He looked at her weird like people do when they realized Sybil could heal so fast.

“What?”

He shrugs into his jacket, "Nothing." Then he moved to leave as if nothing had changed. “Let’s get you something to eat, ok?”

“Do you mind terribly if I change?” she said glancing down over the grey jumpsuit that was her uniform. It was drab, shapeless, and comfortable, but not helpful to any purposes of espionage, and there was the blood on the shoulder of it. Sybil had belted it to define her waist, hoping that someone would give her a better uniform for the love of all that was sacred.

“Do you have clothes to change into?” he asked.

“In my bag, yes sir,” she smiled at him softly.

Capone eyed the small purse that hung at her hip, “Fine, but be quick about it.”

Sybil ducked into a bathroom stall and took off the uniform quickly, dropping it on the floor before pulling on a short sleeved tee shirt that was careworn to softness, with a black drawing of a raven, and a pair of black skinny jeans.

She went out through the front of the stall and settled against the counter, “avert your eyes or there will be no mystery left to me.”

He laughed, watching her take make up from her bag.

“They don’t like us apprentice’s wearing this stuff, but hardly anyone enforces it,” she said, adding the thin line of black drawn over her eyelashes, brushing the black paste out to a wing, “With my luck I got one of the few mentors that does.” She smeared a red balm stain over her lips, then some mascara on her lashes, and some rouge over her cheeks.

He stepped closer to her and brushed her hair over one ear and touched her ear gently, touching her industrial piercing, “What’s this?”

“My ear,” she glanced at his reflection, “If you would look at your own reflection you have them as well. In fact they’re pretty prominent.”

He scoffed, looking away, “Alright, smart ass.”

She smiled, combing her fingers through her hair.

“And this?” he pushed the sleeve of her shirt up a little to look at the half sleeve tattoo of flowers that stretched down on her right arm, even to the crook.

“It’s pretty,” she smirked in response. “I did the design for it, and figured why not.”

“You drew this?” he asked, incredulous.

“One of my many talents,” she said not quite sarcastically.


	6. Simply Lines

Capone brought her back up to the castle where apparently there had been some dispute over how the earth would be divided among the four rouges.

The gallery room had been split into territories of sorts during the maybe fifteen minutes Sybil and Capone had been gone. Gallucio sat on a very comfortable couch, and Sybil started over to him.

“Hyah, Frank,” she said, sitting down next to him on the couch.

“Billie,” he said looking up briefly from a newspaper dated September 1923.

She looked over his shoulder, “Anything interesting?”

“Ehn,” he shrugged, “it’s old news.”

“Fair,” she settled down and picked up her copy of “Age of Innocence” from her backpack, and flipped to a random page and started reading. She adjusted on the couch for a moment trying to get comfortable before saying, “Where did you get the sofa?”

“There’s a bunch of old furniture in the basement,” he said.

“Is that where you disappeared to?”

He grunted affirmative.

“Ducky,” she said, understanding that he wasn’t going to talk to her much more than that. She looked around, realizing that she had lost Al by his own exhibit, and that Kahmunrah had decided that he had found a way to solve the territory issue. It was twister.

Sybil looked at Jed in his hourglass nearby, “Is this real life?”

“I want to say no, but this feels like real life,” Jed replied.

“I swear to god,” Sybil said, looking back to her book, “this is stupid.”

Ivan and Bonaparte pounced upon North America.

"Very good," says Kahmunrah, spinning the arrow again, "uh…left foot red!"

The pair of emperors stomped down on Africa. Kahmunrah started to spin again but stopped short, "Where is Mr. Capone? Doesn't he want to play?"

Sybil pointed lazily, looking up from her book, “I really wouldn’t-“

"Yeah, I ain't playin' no games!" Capone yelled from where he was in front of his exhibit, "Did you know 'bout this?" he asked Sybil pointing to his exhibit with his hat in his hand.

Sybil shrugged.

"I had heard a rumor," Ivan said calmly.

"I'm gonna be fat!" Capone said as he stared at the mug shot in the blown up newspaper in his display, "and locked up for Income Tax Evasion. Tax evasion… What kind of punk gets pinched for TAX EVASION!" he stomped his feet.

The profile shot in the mug shot turned his head, "What you lookin' at, punk?"

Capone looked away for a minute, respectful of his elders, as if he had forgotten he was speaking to himself.

Sybil took his arm gently, “Come on,” she pulled him away from the glass case, “Just go sit down. It’s been a long day.”

He sat down, and Sybil stood there, once more not quite sure what to do. He looked at up at her a moment before saying, "Sit down. I won't bite…unless ya want me to."

Her eyes dropped like rocks, a pink flush warming her face, even though a part of her knew he was only joking, and another part of her knew it would not be the worst thing she had ever done. She stooped to pick up her book, turning it over in her hands nervously. He patted the cushions next to him and she sat down, and watched him. He cracked his neck and leaned his head against the couch back, closing his eyes.

Sybil was sitting on his left side so she could see the scars on his cheek. There was a grainy quality to the contrast, which Sybil admitted did make it harder to see the scars themselves. It was like how the old film stars of the silent screen seemed more beautiful and glamorous because the flaws of their skin was lost in the high contrast of silver nitrate film. Sybil reached a tentative hand out to touch his face. The second her fingertips touched his skin, his eyes popped open and he snatched her wrist, making her gasp.

He looked at her with cold eyes, "did you touch me?"

"Yes…" Sybil said.

"Why?" he sounded angry, and his grasp on her wrist tightened. He hated being reminded of his marred face, even when he knew that most people didn’t really care. It was his vanity.

"I don’t know," she winced as if in pain.

He held her wrist a minute longer then let go, rolled his head back and closed his eyes again.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to ball you up so."

"Do you know how I came by these scars?"

"Gallucio gave them to you for insulting his sister, or creeping her out at least…" she hesitated, "What I never could understand was why ya hired him after that."

"I had it coming to me in away I guess. These scars made me humbler in a way…" he said and she tried not to laugh, “How much do you think you know about me?”

“This and that,” Sybil looked away, not sure she felt comfortable with his direct gaze.

“Well I don’t know much about you, do I?” His arm went over the back of the sofa, hovering on the air by her face, brushing some hair back from her hazel eyes, “But I swear I know you from somewhere.”

“Does that line seriously work for you? Like ever?” Her voice in that quip sounded far more natural than anything she had said to him.

“I don’t think it’s a line… You from Brooklyn?”

“I was born there,” Sybil said simply, a little distracted by the question, “Why? Do you think this common thread is some clear tie between us? Is it meant to be, Mr. Capone?”

“Naw, I don’t think I believe in all that fate bushwah, but you remind me of someone, I just can’t remember who, y’know?”

She rolled her eyes, shifting on her cushion, her back pressing into the soft backrest. She looked down at her book

“What’s it?” Gallucio asked, eyeing the tome, as if he had never in his life seen something as alien as a woman holding a thick book.

“Dunno really,” Sybil looked down at the cover, “A friend loaned it to me ages ago and I never quite got around to reading it.”

His thick paw of a hand opened politely.

With some hesitance, she handed the book over to him.

“’Age of Innocence’”, he read, “About kids, then?”

She smiled, “Hardly, it is historical fiction as best I can figure.”

Gallucio’s wide face creased in a smile that started her, “You remind me of Sophia,” he said handing her the book back.

“Who?”

“Boss’s niece. Or at least that’s what we said. A friend of a friend had a problem with his wife or something and we took in his kid,” the wide rounded shoulders of the street soldier bobbed, “If he ain’t seen it, it’s better for you, right? I mean you can’t dangle something else if he sees you as a child. What use would he have for you then?”

The smile that had warmed Sybil’s heart shaped face like a treasure faded, “Excuse me?”

“You know he’s married,” Gallucio said, far more frank, “It ain’t decent, the way you-“

“First off, his wife is dead,” Sybil interjected, “Second, I personally want nothing to do with any of this. And third, I am stuck here, and I will be damned if I will be made to suffer for the oversights of my superiors.” The rounded nub of her chin wobbled with a weight of words held in.

Gallucio took a step closer to her, “I beg your pardon then, hun. I didn’t think about it like that, ok?”

A glance over her shoulder then back to Gallucio’s earnest face was enough time to look piously confused, “I just want to go home, sir. I just want… I don’t know…”

She turned her bright eyes up to him and was honestly surprised to see him buckle a little, stepping back from her. It was too easy. She dropped her eyes as if she was ashamed, “I should be getting back to my captor.”

Sybil went back to the couch and leaned back against the couch arm and looked at Capone, his eyes closed. His breath came slowing and evenly, as if he was asleep. She didn't know photographs could sleep.

From the corner of her eye she saw something moving, drawing my eye to… Joey?

He waved his arms overhead trying to get her attention, "Come here," he mouthed.

Sybil looked at Capone, fast asleep, snoring lightly and Sybil rose slowly from the couch and she snuck slowly across the room to Joey for a minute, against her better judgment.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm here to save you!" he grabbed her hand and dragged her along into the archives, running as fast as his beanpole legs will let him. She tried to calm him down and make him stop running, but she was laughing too hard to get out a complete sentence. While she knew she ought to go back, this was the most fun she had had in a few hours.

He dragged her through the doors back into the Art Gallery. His legs were a lot longer than hers were, creating an awkward gait as he covered more land faster, as Sybil lagged behind, gasping for breath.

"Joey, stop, I mean it," she said trying to sound stern as they go through the door of one of the galleries, "I have to go back."

He looked at her, "Why? I just got you outta that joint…"

"And I'm thankful for your efforts, but I can take care of myself."

"Are you sure, 'cause I know a guy who's throwin' a party…"

"Did you drag me over here just so you could ask me out?" she asked, trying not to laugh.

"Maybe…I mean how else was I supposed to get you away from Capone? I mean, are you really with Capone?"

"Not really. I'm in a bit of a jam, and Mr. Capone is helping me."

"Do you think you can trust his help?"

"Trusting Capone is like trusting a Vegas dealer. You don't want to because he might be with holding all the good cards, but you have to trust them if you want to play at all."

"So…" he asked, confused, “Wait, that doesn’t make any sense.”

"I've got to get back," Sybil started away from him, until she saw two of Capone's boys. She faltered and dragged Joey into a nearby closet.

"Why'd you hide from his employees if you wanna go back?"

"Because I should go back alone, and tell him I was hungry or something. If they catch me, I can't give an excuse."

There was a shuffling noise that made her freeze, thinking rats. She reached to turn on a light and saw that there were at least twelve people wrapped in duct tape, and gagged.

"The security guards?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, whadya think, we didn't have any? Where do you think I got the key?"

“I was beginning to wonder,” she started untying them, one by one.

"Oh, thank god!" said a black woman that looked middle aged with a name badge that read Beverly, standing up to help her free the other guards, “ We were worried we'd never be found!"

“What the hell is going on out there?” an older guard demanded.

"Hey, baby," he said a rounder one.

"Uh…excuse me?" Sybil hesitated.

"Why don't you and I go find a Starbucks and get to know each other a little better?" His nametag read Brundan.

Sybil paused, “Would anyone object to me leaving him here?”

No one seemed to, so Sybil put his gag back over his mouth.

“We have to get out of here!” Beverly said, starting for the door.

Sybil stepped in front of her, taking a felt tip pen from her bag, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing?” Beverly asked.

Sybil finished scrawling a sigil on her palm quickly mumbling under her breath, spreading her hands apart as she spoke, a dark teal light glowed from her palms, “Surrexit somnum et oublier tore.”

The guards slumped to the floor and Sybil closed the door after she and Joey left the closet. “You should get out of here, Joey.”

"Well, can I at least follow you back, ya know to make sure you're alright?" Joey asked.

"No,” she said, sternly running from him. Hurrying back, she ran into Gallucio.

"I've been lookin' fer you," he said grabbing her roughly by the arm and pulling her along, "Boss ain't gonna be happy about this…”

"Oh, do we really have to tell him?" she asked innocently as she could.

He looked at her seriously, and then dragged her back across the mall to Capone who's still on the couch.

"Where'd ya find her?" Capone asked.

"In the portrait gallery," Gallucio replied in a calm voice, though he looked nervous about his boss's apparent spontaneous combustion that would surely come.

"Go," Capone, said to Gallucio who left. Capone’s teeth gritted and he pointed at Sybil, “Sit.”

Sybil looked down walking over to sit next to him, hoping that he was not really mad, "I was hungry so I-"

"Save it for some one who'll buy it," he sounded actually angry, "Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

"I don't think those were your exact words, but-"

"If you went near that boy again-"

She smiled, bursting into laughter.

“What?” he asked, furiously.

“I thought you would come after me yourself,” she smiled, turning on the charm. “How else am I supposed to get you alone?

She knew she had to keep him on her good side. She knew enough about him to know he had a temper, and could change his mind on a whim. It was to her benefit and the benefit of the Bureau if she could have him on her side, even for as short of a time as this.

He didn’t answer, but looked at her with suspicion.

“Hm?” she slinked closer to him on the sofa, tucking a few thick locks of black curly hair over her ear.

“I’m married,” Capone replied safely.

“You know as well as I do, that doesn’t matter,” she smirked, resting her hand against his knee.

“You’re rather forward,” Capone said with a smile.

“How else should I be?” she giggled, shifting over his lap, fully aware of the eyes on her, judging her. She couldn’t let herself care about that. “Or would you rather me be demure, and innocent?”

He didn’t meet her eyes, and said reluctantly, in a low voice, “You’re not my type, dear.”

“That is a feeble excuse, Mr. Capone, and not even remotely believable. I mean… have you seen me?” she smiled, running her hands over his chest.

He groaned, leaning his head back against the sofa back. “No.”

She pouted, “Well, keep the offer in mind, yeah?” she leaned closer to him, but pulled back suddenly when her phone started ringing. She leaned over to get her phone from between the cushions. A small smile shaped her mouth, “Hey, George,” she said smiling wider.

Capone frowned. _George? Who the hell?_ He grabbed the phone away from her, “Who is this?”

Sybil’s smile fell, “No, stop.”

He dodged her, “This is Al. Who is this.... Yeah no, I got that, but who are you?” Al paused again, “No we haven’t met… Oh…”

“George is my father,” she said, guessing that was where he was in the conversation.

"…Can I take a message? Yeah, uh you could call me her boyfriend I guess…”

Sybil’s eyes went wide and she shook her head wildly.

“Well, sir, if you've got a message, leave it now, 'cause I've got things to do," Capone said, then listened for a while then replied in an angry tone, "Well, the same to you!" and hung up, and handed her back the phone which she slips the phone back into her pocket, "Your pop says hi."

"You're an ass-"

"Ass-hole, yeah yeah I know,” he smirked back, slipping an arm around her waist, as if warming to the idea of her, “I’ve heard it before once or twice.”


	7. Playing with Fire

Sybil rested her head against Al’s shoulder, taking another long sip from his flask, taking in the grassy taste of gin against her tongue.

“You should ease up,” He said, taking it back from her again, “It’ll go right to your head.”

“I can handle it,” she giggled, reaching as if she meant to take the flask back from him, but she wouldn’t. “Please?” she whined, poking her bottom lip out at him, sliding herself across his lap, and reaching as he held the flask back behind him. Her body pressed close against him, she wondered how long before his body would react.

“Play your hand, or fold,” Nitti requested, somewhat awkwardly.

“Why, mister? Are you nervous about your hand?” Sybil asked, peeking at her cards again. It was a shitty hand, “I raise one silver button, probably german,” she pushed the button to the center of the makeshift table. There was little real money between them so the lot had taken to playing with knick knacks. The pot currently held twelve buttons of varying creed, type and shape, two ceramic figures that seemed not to much like this path, three puzzle pieces and a set of prank dentures that would not sit still.

Capone’s hand stroked against her thigh absently before tossing in another puzzle piece and an old skeleton key. The side of his hand brushed against the bare skin of her thigh.

This was more fun than it should ever have been, and as much as Sybil did not in reality care for the act she had to keep up, she figured it was better than the work that Evelyn had to do. She looked at the little cowboy in his hourglass and felt a pang of guilt.

“It makes me a little sad, that,” Sybil said, accepting a cigarette from Ricca.

“Huh?” Al asked, looking her over.

“The little one’s situation looks most dire… do you really think Kahmunrah would let him die?”

Al hesitated, “Very likely so, yes.”

“It’s not his fault,” she said quietly, leaning her head against his collar.

“You want me to save him for you?” he guessed, amused by the idea.

“He might make a good pet. You could keep him in a hamster ball,” she giggled.

He looked like he was thinking about it, and he was a little. How much could he ask for before it was too much? Sybil brushed her lips against his neck softly. He smelled like newspaper.

“P'yanyy shlyukha (Drunk whore),” Ivan said to one of his guards absently, on the other side of the hall.

“Shlyukha eto slovo, chtoby smutit’ zhenshchin za te zhe deystviya , chto muzhchiny gordyatsya (Whore is a word to embarrass women for the same actions men are proud of),” she called out in Russian across the room, “I to, chto zastavlyayet menya eto ? Ya ne vzyali oplatu za svoy kompanii (And what would make me so? I have taken no payment for my company).”

Al was laughing, not knowing what she was saying, but taking a drink from his flask, slapping his hand against her hip.

“Ty vedesh' sebya , kak budto vy v chastnom poryadke, yesli vy ne yavlyayutsya, (You act as if you are in private, though you are not),” He said back, walking nearer her where she lay against Al. “Это неприлично (It is indecent).”

“You sound like my mother,” she said, laughing, “YA molod , Vashe Vysokopreosvyashchenstvo . Ya prosto khochu, chtoby veselo provesti vremya . Chto plokhogo v tom , chto ?(I am young, your eminence. I just want to have fun. What harm is there in that?)”

Ivan stared at her as if she had proposed the worst sort of thing, but couldn’t think of a good enough reason to tell her she was wrong, and he didn’t have time to formulate an argument against her, because Napoleon sent up a warning call that those who were sent to solve the riddle of the tablet were escaping.

Al leapt up immediately, pulling Sybil along by her wrist and handcuffed her to a metal railing leading up a wheelchair ramp.

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused.

“I need you to stay here,” he said.

“Do you not trust me?” she asked, trying to sound confident.

He paused, looking over his shoulder at where Ivan had hopped on a bicycle, leading his men to battle. There wasn’t time to explain, “Just stay here,” he started away.

“Yeah… I’ll do that…” she twisted her arms in the handcuffs, looking at Jed in his own captivity, “Sorry, I tried…” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, wiggling in the sand that was up to his shoulders now.

Sybil slipped down to sit on the floor, to sit, looking side ways at Kahmunrah who leered at her. She felt suddenly very anxious about all of this. Of all people to be left alone with, she was left with the only one she was fairly certain she should not trust.

“Well well then. What shall we do with our time until the others return, hm?” Kahmunrah strolled over to her, hands clasped behind his back. He reached out his hand and stroked his hand over her hair.

She stared at him, minorly frightened, “Ever heard of Monopoly?”

He smirked, and roughly grabbed a fistful of her hair, “I think not.”


	8. Hail Mary

It was only a few minutes into the trek across the National Mall when Evelyn realized that they were being hunted down by the streltzi of Czar Ivan. 

Evelyn sent Daley and Amelia in to hiding and offered herself as a distraction. Which worked pretty well until Ivan figured out that she was just running in circles, and had his men double back. When she realized that she was surrounded by the enemy, her phone decided that it was time to ring. She held up a finger to one of the Russian Imperialist as she reached into her pocket to take it out, flip it open and look at the screen. Sybil’s father, George was calling. She kept her finger in the air, "One moment, " she answered the phone, "I am afraid I am in the middle of something just now, Geor-" 

"Who's this Al punk who's dating my daughter?" 

"Well, Sybil doesn't have a boyfriend, and I don't know any one named A-" at which point she stopped cold, remembering Capone, "Oh…that Al…yes, well…don't worry I have this under control." 

"That's what you said in Guatemala." 

"That was not my fault! How was I to know the chubacabra had moved? It was not in the brief!" 

"Where are you?" 

She hesitated a moment, "DC." 

"If you need anything-"  

"I'll call you," Evelyn stated. Ivan makes a hand gesture for her to finish her conversation, "I have to go, I'm in the middle of something," she hung up the phone, "well, it's good to see you gentlemen again…" 

"Where are your friends?" Ivan demanded. 

Evelyn didn’t reply. 

Ivan’s collegues seemed to want to joint up with him eventually, Napoleon, having thought ahead had brought a telescope and is scouting the area, he shouted, "There! I have found them!" he points towards the Air and Space Museum. 

They started towards the Museum, Evelyn in tow. 

The lower level door is locked, "Oh, too bad…I guess we'll just have to go back to the castle and wait for them," Evelyn said, flat.. Ivan gives an order to one of his men and he smashes the door open with the ax, "or you could do that…" 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next blow against Sybil's head knocked it back against the marble façade of the column behind her. Momentary disorientation spun her head around as she tried to resettle against further assaults. He was yelling about something, wanting answers to questions that she didn’t understand. They were questions that were above her pay grade. 

“I am a linguistics officer,” she murmured, her head pulsing, “I do not know…” She was aware suddenly that she had said this several times over now. 

He was yelling, but she didn’t focus on his words. This was useful somehow… what was it? There was pain again, in her scalp this time. He was yanking her head back by her hair. The right side of her face felt swollen already. 

There was a sound like glass breaking and it was a moment before she realized that was exactly what the sound was. The lunatic had reeled back from her, trying to duck from the hail of glass. There was an airplane, or a glider made of canvas and pale wood. 

Her plump fingers rubbed against each other and she was muttering to herself over and over. “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.” She didn’t notice she was doing it. She didn’t know why she did it, but sometimes she did. It was strange because she always thought that in moments of anxiety she should speak Hebrew or Greek. But it was always this and she never knew she would suddenly just start praying to the Virgin. 

There were the sounds of argument. Sybil really considered beating her head against the cold stone column behind her head, just to make everything stop for a while, but that wasn’t what she should do. She should struggle on or something. Daley and Kahmunrah were arguing about whether Kahmunrah ought to hand over Jed and the others, or if Larry should give the tablet and the combination first. This had been going on for a solid five minutes. She leaned across the floor, pulling her purse closer with her foot and digging her headphones out with the self same foot. Getting them over her ears was her next Odyssey. After moments of strain, she leaned back her body aching.


	9. A Rescue

"OH MY GOD!" Kahmunrah screams, "I can't believe you just reached your hand across like that again! I just can't believe it! God, I really want to kill you! If you didn't know that Combination you'd be so dead right now, it would be UNBELIEVABLE!"

“We got the combination!" Capone shouts, "It's pi! 3.14159265. Yeah, your little friend sang like a canary!" he twitters, holding up an Albert Einstein bobble head.

"I'm sorry, Larry," Einstein says, "but in the eternal fued between brains and brawn, brawn inevitably wins…"

"Shut it!" Capone yells at the bobble head in his hand, flicking him in the face, "You remember what happened last time, huh?"

"Hey, that's enough," Larry reaches out to take Einstein.

"Hey, no touchin'!" Capone says all indignant.

Evelyn glared at the mumbling, shackled girl, disappointed in the way that her training had failed them both. Her head slumped against the column. The Italian American next to Evelyn, finally noticed the younger against the stones now and lunged forward, snatching her face up.

Sybil leapt as if afraid, her voice coming out in a yelp, “I don’t know! Please…” she whimpered, her knees curling up before kicking out at him reflexively.

There was a full moment before Evelyn realized that Sybil was using her training. She was likely concussed, but was still trying to manipulate him.

Kahmunrah snatched the tablet away from Larry and puts it in place, "It must be a real bummer for you, Larry, that all your valiant efforts were in the end for naught," he pressed the squares, emitting from the gateway a bizarre high pitched whine, "Do you know what that sound is?"

Ivan puts his hand up.

"Really annoying?" Sybil muttered to herself, her head spun on an unseen axis, and the high-pitched whining was not helping.

"It's rhetorical," Kahmunrah snapped, "that is the sound of the end." He began to chant in Ancient Egyptian, and the gateway slowly openned, and gold and white light poured out.

The gateway opened and out came Kahmunrah's army. They were all tall, with the bodies of men, and the heads of hawks.

"Welcome to the new extended reign of Kahmunrah! Fifth King of Egypt…Now, the world!"

The look on Larry's face made it clear that he had no idea how to deal with this further. Evelyn actually looked bored. Whether she really was or not, Sybil wasn’t sure. Ivan, Napoleon and Capone looked on, and from the looks on their faces, this was far more than they'd bargained for.

The warriors circle around Larry and Evelyn. Sybil strained forward against the chains that bound her to the column. The circle of bird-men got so thick that she couldn’t see Larry or Evelyn anymore. She pulled her legs up out of the way as more of the bird-men poured out through the door.

"Hold!" shouts a small voice, "The mighty Octavius has returned! I ride on the back of nature's most fearsome creature! I ride the SQURILL!" the mighty steed charges forward, the tiny Roman general on its back. Octavius halts within the circle, and I can't see him, but I can hear him, "Do you wish to surrender honorably, or must this end in the spilling of your blood?"

"Really?" Kahmunrah asked, "This is your big rescue?"

"No. This is!"

The window burst into thousands of tiny pieces as the stone statue of Abraham Lincoln broke in through the large stained glass window, shattering it, a figure perched high on his shoulder. Lincoln stooped down so the figure could leap down to the floor. He's a man in his early fifties in jeans and a large plaid button down with a full beard. He was large, but not fat. He was the type of man that looked as though the term barrel chested was made specifically for him. His fingers grasp a shotgun, and a bullet belt circles down from his shoulder, and another on his hips. Evelyn and Sybil knew him on sight, though it had been years since the last time either woman had seen him. Sybil’s father looked almost exactly the same as the day he left their home.

"Hey, Pop," she grinned over at him.

Capone looked up as if things were clicking in place for the first time that night.

He just sighed, and asked with a voice that had once been tinted with something of Eastern Europe, "Evelyn, why is my daughter chained to a column?"

"Well…it's complicated, but that's sort of why I texted you."

George suddenly grins as wide as either woman had ever seen him, like he's going to laugh, he jerks his head at the agitated Kahmunrah, "I would have been here an hour ago had I known!”

"You DARE to mock me?" Kahmunrah shouted, then he barks an order to the Horus who look back at him with confusion. Kahmunrah sighs, "Caw Caw Caw."

The Horus flung the spears at George and at Lincoln. George dodges a few of the spears which bounce off of the stone man, blocking the others with the glinting barrel of his gun.

There was the sharp mechanical, compressing sound as George cocked the gun, and popping his head up, fired a shot at an angle up at the ceiling resulting in some of it falling, startling and scattering the Horus. Those who didn't flee directly into the Underworld, were shoved along on their trip by Lincoln's hand, "Filthy half pigeons!"

The bird men ran as fast as they could, back to the safety of the land of the dead, against the protests of Kahmunrah, "No no no, do not return to the Underworld," the door slammed shut, "Well…this is awkward…"

"Well, it would appear my work here is done," said Lincoln, who stoops down in front of Larry, "Just remember, son. A house divided against itself can not stand," he straightened up and exited, shattering more of the stained glass window as he goes.

"What now?" Ivan asked.

"Well, I'm really not sure. But I'm pretty sure we should start by watching them die…"

"Streltsi, make them dead!"

"Rub 'em out, ‘cept the girl," Capone ordered, gesturing at Sybil, absently, as if he was trying to fully understand everything he had just seen.

"She will die with the rest of her miserable family," Kahmunrah said, nodding to Capone’s men, who seem willing to follow the order, if with some shred of hesitance. Two of them, Accarda and Ricca moved in on Sybil where she was still cuffed to the column. She scurried back as well as she could, contained as she was. Accarda grabbed her by a fist full of her hair.

"You said the skirt was mine," Capone said in a low, gritting voice.

"Yes, well that was before I knew who her family was. Now, she must die,” the pharaoh spoke as if this young woman’s finite existence was in his hands by the will of higher powers and as if this was not something that he could or would change ever, but rather had seen it coming and knew that it must.

"Uh..sir, if I'm gonna die, can I ask you why you hate my family so much?" Sybil asked, eager to buy some time. She squirmed at the pain in her scalp, and wondered how it could be as easy as that to practically ritual murder a person.

"Well, it may serve you well to learn some history," Kahmunrah smirked, "Baby brother was born when I was fifteen or so. I was the perfect son, duty and honor bound to my family, but somehow that was all swept away when he was born," he was rambling, run on sentences sliding like quick sand that he was losing his point in, "He was always able to get away with every sort of wrong doing. When he began cutting teeth, he would chew on everything he could get his mouth around. Including the tablet. When I saw the infant drooling and munching on the tablet, I removed it from his grasp and gently chastised him. The brat began to scream. At which point your father's apprentices beat me like the thugs they were."

"Is that really what happened?" Sybil asked George and Evelyn. It didn’t sound like something that would ever actually happen.

"No." Evelyn said.

George shook his head, his jaw hanging slack as if he was trying to think of what on earth had been the inspiration for the story.

"Well, the details may have escaped me, but none the less, they must be punished! Now kill them!" Kahmunrah screamed.

Capone looked between Sybil and Kahmunrah, a calculating look on his pale face, "Let me keep the kid. I can keep her in line. I don't even see why you gotta ice her family. You need servants right?" Kahmunrah looks at him with cold eyes, "You will obey orders. Now, I order you to kill that girl."

The rouges swarmed forward, as bugle blast sounded through the hall.

"Oh, what now?" Kahmunrah stomped his foot on the floor.

There in the doorway, was a large group of people including, but not limited to, the New York Exhibits, Amelia Earhart, The Thinker, and a trio of cupids.

"We are not going to attack!" shouted Custer from the back of his horse, "Right now!"

Sybil looked at him confused, and feeling a little as if she had missed something.


	10. The Battle of the Smithsonian

It was complete and total chaos. Sybil struggled against the manacle that bound her to the column, trying to get out of the way. A Hun fought one of the streltzi and the axe missed her face by inches. The bond seemed to loosen. Assuming that she was succeeding, Sybil strained harder until the chains loose themselves entirely.

A Napoleonic Imperial soldier charged at her, engaging her to fight. He slashed and stabs his bayonet at her. She dodged each parry and eventually grabbed the thing, pulling it from his grasp and she turned his own weapon on him. The coward ran, but at least she was armed. She fought her way through the crowd, seeking out Evelyn or George, but she could find neither.

An arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back through the brawl, back behind a larger column. Capone held her arms, keeping her pressed against the column. She scowled, "Let me go."

"You think I let you loose so you could run head first into the scrap?" he asked.

"Are you gonna kill me?"  Sybil couldn't remember if he liked her or not anymore. Everything was too loud and she could barely remember where she was.

"If I wanted you dead, I woulda left ya tied to the column," he said, irritated, "Stay outta sight will ya?"

Sybil scoffed, "Not likely."

He looked at her weird, "I guess my plan didn't quite pan out the way I thought it would."

"You can't trust criminals," she said trying to be witty.

"Hey!" he looked insulted. Backing from her, "just stay here, will ya? Please, Billie?”

She rolled her eyes at his orders and moved around the column back into the brawl. She was in for a few minutes when she noticed that apparently Larry has taken it upon himself to make Custer their leader. Sybil found this to be a disquieting notion.

It crossed her mind that she could be free if this went well, but it would give her a good distraction. Setting herself towards the door, Sybil found her head spinning and tumbled. She scrambled to catch herself, but she felt drugged. Her stomach emptied itself and she realized that she had forgotten the serious head trauma she had endured. The noises hurt her head like a hammer bashing against her skull and she just wanted to go home.

Evelyn saw her but even as she knew the girl was useless in this condition she felt revulsion at the fact that she didn’t even try. She was weak and Evelyn despised weakness in any and all forms whatever. Through all of these thoughts, Evelyn was proud to say she was working at top capacity, her sword blows against her enemy all found their mark and she herself suffered little enough damage.

In a half an hour at most, the enemy soldiers realized that there was no one giving them their orders, as their bosses had gotten in a fight over who was the leader amongst them. Without any accomplices, Kahmunrah was left to make the orders. Since his sanity was hanging by a thread, there was no way that he could maintain the proper amount of control over the men, who bit by bit left the battle. When most were gone, Larry returned at this moment and Kahmunrah attacks him, launching Larry into an epic battle between a flashlight and a wicked looking sythe styled sword. It was pretty. Right in the middle of the fight, Larry tossed the tablet to Amelia like it was a Frisbee. She put it in the space on the gateway and it opens as Larry gets Kahmunrah in a headlock.

"Who are you?" Kahmunrah asks.

"I'm the night guard," Larry said after a momentary pause, and he shoved Kahmunrah back into the gateway, and Sybil watched his molecules separated into a million specs of dust, spiraling in the winds. Amelia slammed the door shut.


	11. Temporary Goodbyes

Their mission was, in technical terms, over. 

Evelyn stood the Ivan, Napoleon and Capone on line. George stood by Evelyn, both of them looking expectantly at Sybil as she continued to study the gate, her stomach turning upside down again. She dry heaved, sliding back down the wall to sit. 

George went to her, slowly. His daughter’s face looked like meat, swollen and blotched. Streaks of her eye makeup lined her cheeks and she stared up at him with her one opening eye. 

“Papa.” 

His hand was hot and course, and smelled of onions and she knew he had made chili. She missed his cooking. His voice was a low growl and the prayer he said in some long dead language was almost frightening, but it softened the aching in her head and she could see again. He looked at her with no tenderness but rose and with his back to her went to Capone. 

“Once again I owe you my life for watching her. I can not let you go, but know that I would give you life if I could,” he said in a low voice. 

“You got something against aging?” Capone asked. 

“It is a bad habit, I try to avoid it,” George’s voice had lost all trace of it’s Russian accent. “I would appreciate you not connecting the dots in her head. She doesn’t need to remember you.” 

He stepped away from the younger man and looked at Evelyn, “I know you never liked her, but do try.” 

Evelyn’s grey eyes stayed on the young girl touching her face, in astonishment, “She should be in deep freeze with the others. You know that, or better yet, shot. She was an experiment and you know it went wrong. She's unstable.” 

Sybil stood walking towards the pair slowly, but Capone politely intercepted her, chatting. Her green eyes looked up at him as if trying to remember something. 

“She’s not fit to be alive. One day we’re going to regret her, you know that.” 

“You are not God. You do not get to say who lives and dies,” George said, reminding her gently. 

“Nor are you, even through you like to play at it.” Her icy eyes finally snapped up at him, “It would be a mercy. It would be better than what you’re doing." 

“What am I doing?” The large man asked. “I’m retired, remember?” 

Evelyn’s laugh was short and brisk, but she paused. 

“Some would say you should be taken out and shot, but I have protected you. Now do the same for me. Do not make me regret saving you.” 

He looked back to Sybil and smiled, his hand waving, “I am going now. Do not make me come back.” 

"She had another fit." 

He paused a moment, "have her taken in for a check up," he concluded, ending the dialog. 

Sybil hurried as if to catch him before he left, but found as soon as she was out through the door he was gone entirely. There was no trace of him left but the spent shotgun shells on the floor that Evelyn was scooping up and putting in a paper bag to dispose of. 

“Why didn’t he say goodbye?” Sybil asked her crushed, “Did I do something wrong?” 

Evelyn looked at Sybil, and then at Capone over her shoulder. The man’s black eyes implored her to do the admirable thing for once. 

“No. He’s in the middle of a case and he had to get back.” 

“But… he didn’t say a word to me.” 

“Are you surprised?” Evelyn tried to be gentle. Tried to remember what George had asked her to do. 

Sybil looked away, “No.” 

“Take Capone and Napoleon back to their places. As I recall Ivan was in the basement. I will see to him and speak with Daley. Do try to be quick.” 

She turned, and was surprised at how close Capone was behind her and the way he looked at her was as if he knew her quite well. 

“What?” she asked. 

"Nothing.” 

“Move on then,” she gestured, scooping her purse to her shoulder and pushed him gently, “Signore,” she bowed to the Emperor of France, “If you please…” 

The two followed at her heels. She opened the door with the card-key that Joey had given her and she led them in. She knew where Napoleon's portrait was. As odd as she knew it sounded, she had spent hours in front of his portrait. When her schools had gone on trips to the Gallery, she had always made sure to visit the portrait. Anyway, the French gallery was a quiet place to think, and no one bothered some lonely little kid looking at Napoleon's portrait, wondering if the childhood of a self-proclaimed emperor was easier than hers. 

The frame is huge and he stepped right up into his library, without the help she offered. A few guards that look like they belong to Louis XV are down at one end of the gallery, 

"Excusez-moi, Messieurs? Est-ce que cela vous d'arangeraitde veiller que l'homme ne parte pas?" (Excuse me, sirs? Would you please make sure that man doesn't leave?) Sybil asked pointing to Napoleon, "Il est coupable des crimes contre le roi." (He is guilty of crimes against the king.) 

"Oui ce serait notre honeur,"(Yes, it would be our honor) one replieed, and they bow. 

Sybil curtsied, and then led Capone out. 

"What gives, kid?f" Capone asked, "You know my case is back in the castle. Why drag me around?" he asked as he followed her back down the stairs outside. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to go straight back in? Because I thought you might want to stay out for a minute or two. You tried to bail me out, and I'm just trying to return the favor. You complaining?" 

"No, ma'am." He smiled, "You know, you'd've made a swell moll." 

"And I almost had you figured for a gentleman. In fact, I've figured you for a gentleman quite a few times now," Sybil stopped in front of him, "Why do you always stop me from believing that you are?" 

His square shoulders bobbed, “Maybe you need to learn to stay clear of men like me.” 

“Golly,” she laughed, “isn’t that a lesson to learn.” 

They walked back across the mall. Capone stopped half way across. Sybil stop and turn back, "What’s up?" 

"It's just…well, I'm not gonna be alive tomorrow night. I thought I was gonna make it this time…" 

"I'm sorry." 

He smiled, "Ya know, if I'd have made it, I would've liked to take you out." 

He knew this wasn’t true. She was his niece, even if she did not know it, she would never look to him as anyone but the little girl he had taken on as his own. 

Sybil chuckled at the concept of dating the prohibition-age gang leader, "I don't think so."  

"Why not?" he asked, walking after her. 

“I think we’re too much alike.” 

He caught her arm gently and turned her to look at him. Sybil flinched at the hand that reached up to touch her rounded cheeks. 

“Relax, I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

“I know,” she said, surprising her self that it was true. “I don’t know why I said that….” 

He caught her cheek between the back of his forefinger and pointer, pinching her gently the way he would a child. He smiled, “Are you happy? The way your life is?” 

“Why shouldn’t I be?” 

He didn’t know how to say that there was this sadness in her eyes that he recognized and that he wished would just go away. 

"Trust me, Al, it wouldn't have worked out,” she said interrupting his thoughts. ”You and me, we've got criminal minds. The problem with people with criminal minds is that either no one can trust them or they can't trust anyone else. That isn't exactly something that ought to be present in a relationship." She was walking again away from him. 

"That so, Freud?" 

"It is," Sybil said, watching him open the door for her, "Go on," she waved him in, trying not to be in any way touched by the gesture. 

He went in, and she put him in his case. As she started to close the door, he stopped her, "We're gonna meet again, honey." 

"Really?" she asked sarcastically, "How'd you figure that?"  

"I just got a feelin'," he smirked as she closed the glass, separating him from the world. 

Sybil looked at him a moment and thought a little of animals trapped in cages to be stared at. Learned from yes, but stared at. She bobbed her head before going out to where Evelyn stood with Larry Daley. He was in a rush, but Evelyn was trying to convince him to fill out the proper paper work. 

"There really isn't time!" 

Sybil watched but didn't interfere it was not her place. It was never her place. No one ever seemed to care what it was she thought anyhow unless she was playing a part and now she felt empty. She leaned her shoulder against the red plane and wondered, as she sometimes did, as to who she actually was. She wasn't the girl she'd been with Capone and she wasn't the girl that Evelyn thought she was. She was a blank canvas, or rather a recycled canvas with too many confused layers of white gouache and paint. The images bled together and then vanished under some thin misty cloud meant to conceal her sins. 

Mr. Daley took the papers and promised to mail them when he was done and he shook Evelyn's hand hesitantly as if he wasn't sure what to make of her. He looked to Sybil and smiled, "I'm glad you're alright." 

"Same to you, sir," she stood up from leaning against the red Vega plane. She embraced him, "Be careful, museum work's dangerous, I guess," she teased him. 

"Where are you off to?" 

She shrugged, "We don't ever really know. But I'm sure we'll meet again." 

Larry Daley smiled at her, "Until then," he glanced at Evelyn where she stood some feet off calling back to Sybil to come. 

She looked over her shoulder as she went to her boss's side, "Until then," she agreed, wondering when that would be. And it wasn't until the plane lifted off that she realized she hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye or to check on anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: There it is. I know I posted a lot today, five chapters on this story alone. I'm trying to get the next part up soon. I know I have a whole other story that I've been neglecting. I need feedback from my readers, though I know there are few of you on here. Bear in mind this is mostly a repost of a series I had up a few years ago on fanfiction.net that I've edited. The next part is a complete rewrite and my main character has changed significantly for anyone that read my original series, I know that. If there's any feedback you want to give me please leave me comments. I don't have any yet and I would like some. I'll have more up soon I promise. See you all again in my next story.


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